Lamentation
by anyadoll
Summary: Follows right were Lauren ends, and will continue from there, excluding the episodes that have happened since.
1. Meaning

**A/N:** Hey lovelies, it's been too long and now I've found another show to become addicted too: Criminal Minds. I'm about 5 years late, but I managed to catch up on it (thanks in large part to A&E). I'm all for the Prentiss/Hotch thing, and I refuse to believe she won't be coming back because CBS, frankly, isn't doing too great, as I believe it is becoming the new FOX, except FOX actually _likes_ their actors to return. (I also noticed a few things in my observations-in the first episode, when they're talking baby names, Hotch says Sergio, which later turns out to be Prentiss' cat's name; and two, does anyone else notice how much Prentiss _actually_ gets kicked around? Seriously—the girl can't catch a break! ) This is immediate post-Lauren, is a prologue of my story, and will be multi-chapter; I'm kind of just winging this on a sudden inspiration. On with my newest obsession…

**Lamentation**

_Benjamin Franklin said, "Three can keep a secret, if two of them are dead."_

Aaron Hotchner did not expect this. It had stopped him in his tracks when JJ pulled him away from the exit, cornered him with a vice grip he didn't know the petite blonde had. She spoke swiftly, words he wouldn't remember, an odd reassurance in her voice, a whisper of everything will be okay before she slipped the small, folded paper into his lifeless hands.

He couldn't look back at his grieving team. They lost so much of themselves every day to the darkness. They didn't need to lose her too. And as for him? He'd lost all his chances. He'd lost his wife to a mad man; lost Kate, one of his best friends, to homegrown terrorists with something to prove, and now Emily, the one person that he'd found himself slowly opening up to. It had been subtle, but it had started after she'd come to find him after the pig farm case in Canada….after Foyet had attacked him. She'd just…been there, never pushing, always listening, patient with him and his faults.

And now she, too, was gone.

He could feel JJ staring him down, trying to communicate with him. He shook the feeling off, the red glow of the EXIT sign all that kept him going. Shaking with anger and rage and sorrow, Aaron Hotchner walked out of the hospital, into the bitter storm that hung in the air.

It wasn't until hours later, seated on a park bench, that he felt the folded paper still clenched in his hand. Unsure as to why JJ had forced it into his palm in the first place, he finally opened the small, square sheet of notebook paper.

What he read caused his heart to break in two, caused his mind to race a million miles a minute, and stopped his breathing all together. It was something so simple, so small, but it was an acknowledgement of something more altogether. And it was in _her_ perfect script. There was nothing but a poem, no salutation; but as he re read the words he understood their meaning…and that meaning meant _everything_.

_Do not stand at my grave and weep _

_I am not there; I do not sleep. _

_I am a thousand winds that blow, _

_I am the diamond glints on snow, _

_I am the sun on ripened grain, _

_I am the gentle autumn rain. _

_When you awaken in the morning's hush _

_I am the swift uplifting rush _

_Of quiet birds in circled flight. _

_I am the soft stars that shine at night. _

_Do not stand at my grave and cry, _

_I am not there_

_I did not_ _die._

He delicately folded the note back into its former square, tucking it into his suit jacket for safe keeping. He knew it was for no one else to see. He knew, without a doubt, that JJ was in on what was happening-probably had been before he'd even called her. Of the entire team, in all the years they'd worked together, she had wanted him to know. As much as it pained him to keep the secret, he knew he had no choice, as JJ had no choice.

Standing, he felt a renewed purpose start in the pit of his stomach. He lost to Foyet; the man had taken a part of Aaron Hotchner's soul with him the day his wife was murdered, and he would feel that regret and loss for the rest of his life. But Ian Doyle...he would not win. He refused to lose again. He would bring her home.

Emily Prentiss was alive.

(Short beginning I know-and I'm not known for short—but I have an idea of where to take it. So I shall update as immediately as possible.)


	2. Revelation

**A/N:** The poem in the prologue is a funeral poem by Mary E. Frye that I've always liked. The poem used in this chapter is the third verse of Revelation by Robert Frost. I don't care much for Seaver—she's flat, uninteresting, and if there weren't 2 more seasons already solidified, I'd say she's a jump-the-shark character. I'm not about to kill her off or anything, but really, the girl has next-character-death stamped on her pretty, clueless, forehead. (And since she has signed back on, JJ is in my story, YAY) Here is chapter 2!

**Lamentation**

_But so with all, from babes that play_

_At hide-and-seek to God afar,_

_So all who hide too well away_

_Must speak and tell us where they are._

_Poet, Robert Frost_

1 year later…

As he always did, Aaron Hotchner stood firmly in front of the window of his office, observing his colleagues, his friends. No cases had come across his desk through their recently returned media liaison, Jennifer Jareau, since her "surprise" reinstatement three weeks ago. Strauss had immediately whisked the blonde away, demanding to know the reason for her sudden "demotion." Surely Strauss was more upset with the fact that as hard as she tried, she could not rid herself of the crack team long assembled by Rossi, Gideon, and Hotchner.

He knew it was not a demotion. Her return, though happily welcomed by the team, meant something was wrong. They hadn't had a chance to speak on the matter, as she stealthily avoided his watchful eye.

Hotch sighed. His once lively team was falling apart at the seams. The rapid changes, the death, it had all taken its terrifying toll on them.

Garcia had dimmed, her usual chipper self came more forced than before, her colors and witty remarks fading with her smiles. Morgan, who he'd always seen as the one to be strong and resilient, if only for Garcia, was crumbling with the effort to remain so. He'd become more reckless lately, managing injuries at every corner. Rossi had been writing more and talking less, extending book tours to get away, even though he would never admit to it. Hotch was waiting for the day he didn't come back, only to be left a letter like Gideon. And Reid, poor Reid with his fear of becoming his mother, the headaches only increasing while he turned inward on himself, with no one to understand or confide, he was detaching from them all. Seaver volleyed between the team and the academy; a year ago she would have jumped at the chance to be apart of the world they were in, but the void left by the woman that fought for her left no one to accept that teaching role, and so she was lost.

They were barely keeping their heads above water. He now cursed Emily Prentiss for doing this to them. After the poem JJ had given him from the illusive woman, he'd been elated, thrilled to know that she was alive; he'd been hopeful for leads on Doyle, so much so that he spent every waking moment tracking the slightest blip. His son had even noticed the change; he took that part of his work home, the part that had turned from hopeful curiosity into blind obsession. Now he simply hated the raven-haired woman for what she'd done to them.

The grief stages they went through had been rapid, but acceptance was still out of reach. They were stuck in depression, with no end in sight.

He had a poem on a piece of scrap paper tucked constantly in whatever suit he was wearing, never without it.

He had a poem from a dead woman.

And that, he knew, was all she would ever be.

XOX

It was four months ago that they stopped asking each other if they were okay. They weren't, and it was useless to ask a question you already knew the answer too—as Reid had pointed out one uniquely lucid day, before shutting down once more.

Despite his anti-social tendencies, for him, Emily had been the mother he needed, but didn't have. She was constant, unfailing, and supportive. And like his real mother, it had all been taken away. Her death had damaged him, and he was left scared and alone. Morgan didn't even have the heart to tease him, or even the opportunity. The chatterbox genius no longer spoke unless required to regurgitate information for a case. And that worried them all.

XOX

Penelope Garcia, the most emotionally expressive and aware, felt more than just the usual was off. JJ's return had thrilled the team, as if a missing chunk of their souls was being repaired—but it came with a price. It meant Emily was still gone. Now, Garcia was not stupid. The off feeling had started around the time JJ had come back, all smiles full of rainbows and butterflies. She picked up on the lack of communication between JJ and Hotch; the seldom occasion when their eyes did meet, the rainbow smiles faded and falseness replaced it. Garcia never thought their captain could be hiding anything until that look crossed his face when JJ would enter the room—but now…

When she'd been shot and IA had demanded her full disclosure of the files she'd sealed away, she had gone about rerouting them and sealed the files deeper, tucking viruses and Trojan horses into her programs to scare off potential threats. Her access to those files allowed her to search for Doyle as well. It had not been adding up for Garcia lately—the lack of cases, JJ's surprise return, Hotch's lack of emotion—even moreso since Emily's funeral…that kind of emotion didn't hold in check, and either Hotch had become one of the sociopathic crazies they dealt with or he knew more then he was letting on, and somehow that included JJ.

In one week it would be the anniversary of Emily Prestiss' death. Clicking away at a blinking icon she'd tagged long ago in her blocked files, Garcia lived by her morals:

Everything happened for a reason.

XOX

JJ took in the stacks of cases before her. There were potentials, there were cases which lacked enough information, and cases with too much information to be coherent. Her head drummed with the knowledge she held. It was unfair of her to know; it was unfair for Hotch to know. When she saw him the day she returned, the surprise in his eyes had changed to one of fear, and then from fear to loathing. The last of which scared JJ the most.

She had never seen that look before on her bosses face. The force of it caused her to stop breathing, even as her friends rallied around her with awed smiles and old jokes. JJ was, after all, the messenger. Hotch needed someone to shoot, and it would be her.

The secret she carried weighed heavily on her heart; it caused undue tension in her home, caused her to lash out at Will unprovoked, caused her to spend sleepless nights on her laptop, searching for any sign of Emily or Doyle. She knew each identity by heart, and every month took three days off to visit Paris and sit at the restaurant she'd last seen her best friend at and hope to see her again. It was her own way of grieving, a false luxury she didn't deserve.

Her excuse for returning to the BAU was that she'd served her year away and the trial period was up, they had allowed her to decide where she wanted to be. And they all believed her willingly.

It was another lie.

She held the manila folder tightly, having long memorized its contents. She kept it hidden away, under the guise of a labeless case. It had to be presented at exactly the right moment, else everything was ruined. There was reason behind her transfer, reason the department told her to explain away as she was told she was returning to the BAU effective immediately.

_Keep it together for one more week,_ she thought, _and then they know everything_…

XOX

A soft, quick knock came at his office door. Hotch looked up to see a pale, stricken Garcia.

"Garcia, are you all right? What's wrong?" He demanded gently. She didn't respond. She stared, confused, at whatever she held.

"I know…I know I wasn't supposed to, not after last time," she began shakily, swallowing hard. "But I thought I could help, a little bit. I couldn't help her you know, and we didn't get to say goodbye…I thought something was wrong, it's been weird here since…but I thought it was harmless sir…"

"What is it Penelope?" Hotch stood, knowing that whatever was found by the analyst was not good, and should not have been found. She slid the photo onto his desk, still shaking.

He gasped, color draining from his face. The photo made everything real. "Penelope….where?"

"I've been tracking locations, I never thought of that though. It was just a way to monitor, to make sure he didn't come back. I never thought…"

He tuned her out though. He didn't know whether to praise Garcia for being the obliviant friend, or slap her for being the avid researcher. The photo was an overhead satellite shot, a close up, zeroed in on one particular spot out of thousands.

Emily Presntiss's grave.

It wasn't the grave he was interested in though. It was the woman standing plainly in front of it. Dark raven hair that reached now to the figures elbows, ramrod straight posture, feet apart, hands folded in front of her, right over left as the woman had always stood when at rest, a habit learned from being the child of an ambassador, he was sure. Sunglasses blacked out her exotic eyes, but the smile that pulled her lips was strange and out of place; a white rose lay at her feet. Suddenly, he knew that it wasn't an accident. She'd gone a year with no communication, nothing but the poem remained. She knew of Garcia's abilities. Knew he wouldn't give up. The way she stood, the smile….if the sunglasses were removed, he knew she would be looking up, not down at the grave as it appeared.

She wanted them to know she was back.

"Garcia, get me JJ, _now_."


	3. Silence

**A/N:** Okay, so I'm just totally inspired to continue this story. The twist in my story is approaching—it won't be so clean cut, I promise. I'm a sucker for mushy happy endings, but I love plot twists. I'm still sort of winging it, but that's usually when I get creative. Please review lovelies! Chapter 3!

**Lamentation**

_Martin Luther King Jr. said, "In the End, we will remember not the words of our enemies, but the silence of our friends."_

Still confused, Garcia had barely registered what her boss had commanded she do before they realized that the petite blonde hovered silently in the doorway, the mysterious file clutched to her chest.

"Sir, we need to talk," JJ struggled to say. She closed her eyes, hating herself for what she would have to say and do. She faced Garcia, forcing eye contact with the woman she called her friend, had made the godmother of her son. "Garcia, you need to leave, now please."

Garcia opened her mouth to protest, lost as to what was happening. The hard glare JJ fixed her with was enough to bring tears to the other. She swallowed thickly, angry with her friend. "I don't understand what's happening, but you can't keep us in the dark anymore. She's alive, JJ," Garcia paused, looking to her boss, who bore the same expression as JJ. And it hit her then. "She's alive, and you both knew? This whole time, she's been alive and you both knew!" She shrieked, appalled, pushing past JJ and out the door.

JJ couldn't keep the tears in check. They slid down her cheeks even as she closed the door behind her. A glance out the corner of her eye saw Morgan chasing after the distraught analyst, but not before he shot the office the same dark look she wore a moment ago.

"They won't understand, not for a long time. You did your job. I did mine. They're too smart and too desperate to not look for hope JJ." She nodded, but it didn't fix the situation. He sat back down, head throbbing. "Garcia has been putting feelers out, and she got a hit today—would you like to explain why she's back?" His voice was gentle, but his tone betrayed abject fear, terror, and something JJ couldn't place in her current state.

Hotch slid the satellite photo towards her; JJ didn't even bother looking. "You know I wasn't just magically reinstated. I wasn't demoted. I didn't serve my year away and choose to come back. "

Hotch watched the shifting emotions cross her face. Before saying, "I never thought it was a coincidence."

She nodded imperceptively, licked her lips before continuing. "I haven't heard from her, if that's what you're wondering. I've had no contact." She laughed, but it was bitter. "You know, I go to France every month, just to see if she'll appear. I know she never went back, but it felt good to be in that place. Two months ago, they pulled me aside and told me she went completely off the grid. The alias's we gave her were disposed of. Just…vanished. I thought maybe…maybe she was really gone this time, and I wouldn't have to carry this secret around." More tears. "Hotch…I was relieved. What does that make me?"

The beautiful, blonde liaison buried her face in the palms of her hands, finally freeing herself of every worry and burden, openly sobbing. He didn't know how to comfort her; he could barely keep himself together. He couldn't blame JJ for keeping secrets, and the woman he wanted to blame was still in the wind, mocking them, still a ghost. A ghost that had been caught.

"JJ…." He whispered now, as she gulped in air in an attempt to calm herself down. "Why did you come back three weeks before the anniversary? I need to know."

Her head bobbed again, pushing the tears away. "Right. I should probably start there." She placed the file she had held onto for weeks in front of him, almost hesitantly. "This is why I'm back."

Aaron Hotchner opened the file, waiting for her to begin her explanation.

She stood, an old habit of pacing while giving a brief on a case still stuck to her behavior. He smiled internally—some things would never change.

"Three weeks ago, a body turned up in a warehouse. A man with ties to the Irish Mob. He was beaten beyond recognition—they identified him by his dental records, and even that was almost insufficient. He was one of Doyle's men; he was a rat, trading information to cops for witness protection. We don't think that's what got him killed though."

Hotch's eyes widened at the next photo, another warehouse, but this victim looked like someone they knew all to well.

"It's not her," she felt compelled to say at the way his expression changed, even though they both knew it wasn't their friend. "Her name was Leona Davenport. She was a secretary for a small company. The next is Julie Farmer, an accountant. The third is Paula Clemmins, elementary school teacher. Each woman…each woman had a clover branded on the left side of her chest, Hotch. It's exactly what he did to Emily. Then three weeks ago, nothing. They just…stopped."

He laid out the three photos, frustrated. Three women that could have easily been Emily Prentiss's sisters. "He's not a serial killer, why these random women—why now?"

"He knows she's here Hotch. Why else would she go off the grid? Why walk around in broad daylight, only to have Garcia catch a snapshot of her? We know how she works."

His hands shook as he made all the connections. "No. We used to know how she worked. But I will tell you this. She's here and he knows it, which means that she knows he's here as well. She asked for our help the only way she knew how. Get the team. We can't fail this time JJ."

"I know."

XOX

JJ stood at the front center of the room. Nothing on the white board behind her, not even an uncapped marker poised in her hand. She'd washed her face before bringing the team together, praying it erased the tear tracks. They filed in as they always had, except their body language was completely different, the faces weary.

Garcia sat farthest away, refusing to look at JJ. It would take awhile to rebuild that bridge, she was sure. But JJ noticed that, other than Morgan giving her the cold shoulder, none of them—Reid, Seaver, Rossi—gave any outward indication that the truth had been revealed to them. It was Garcia's way of showing her that she could have been trusted.

If only it were that simple.

Hotch was the last to enter, locking the door behind him. JJ had turned the blinds before she'd called the team in. Reid narrowed his eyes at the strange maneuver.

"What's going on?" The boy genius questioned carefully.

"We have a case. But before I start, I need you all to listen, and listen carefully. I'm not here because I chose to come back, and I'm not here because I was demoted. They sent me back to tell you all what happened a year ago."

Morgan was next to speak up. "What do you mean, what happened a year ago?"

"Last year, Ian Doyle became the international number one most wanted criminal. And last year, he killed SSA Emily Prentiss for information on the whereabouts of his son, Declan." Reid looked away, as if staring at the wall would make the words coming out of her mouth disappear. "But there's more to that story than I was allowed to disclose. My clearance at the Pentagon allowed me to know things…to _arrange_ things."

She glanced around the room, gauging the reactions of her colleagues before she revealed the situation. "SSA Emily Prentiss did not die. With Doyle still alive, we knew that her best chance for survival was to place her in witness protection."

The silence in the small room was deafening. Not a single breath could be heard. And then they reacted.

Garcia burst into angrier tears than before, while Rossi sat still as stone. Morgan stood so quickly the chair he was seated in crashed to the floor, and in his rage, punched the wall behind him. Reid remained unmoving, but she saw the quiet tears fall.

Morgan clenched his bruised fist, directing his anger on Hotch, who hadn't reacted at all. "You _knew_, Hotch! You spent the last year telling us to move on because you knew! You didn't cry at her funeral, you don't look at her picture on that wall, you never went to her grave because she what—trusted _you_ enough—to keep a secret she could have entrusted us _all_ with!"

"You're right Morgan. And I question every day why she wanted me to know. It's eaten away at me, keeping this from you all. For a year the only thing I have of her is a piece of paper with a poem on it. Trust _me_, the knowing is worse than the not knowing."

"Right, blissful ignorance and all that bull. Thanks for that," Morgan bit out sharply, not caring if he was fired then and there.

JJ spoke again, attempting to control the situation. "Look, it's me that you should all be angry with. She just wanted to keep you all safe. We're all she has. And if I can continue, you'll know why I'm telling you this now." Morgan flexed his fists again, shaking his head before he took his seat, placing a comforting arm around Garcia. "This is still considered classified information. I can't put any of this out into the media, I can't even write it on this board. Two months ago we lost all trace of Emily's aliases. We thought the worst until a pattern started emerging stateside. Three women identical to Emily have been tortured, left in warehouses, and have a clover branded on their chest."

Morgan flinched. He remembered the fateful day he found her. He'd seen the edge of that brand.

"We believe Doyle knows she's here, and has become obsessed with finding her."

"How do you know she's even here though?" Rossi finally asked. Hotch placed Garcia's satellite photo of the graveyard on the table.

"Because she asked for our help," Hotch said quietly.

"Well then," Rossi smirked. "Let's bring our girl home."

XOX

"If I was my dear, _sweet_ ex-lover, where would I be hiding out?" Ian Doyle asked no one in particular. She was supposed to be a ghost. But somehow he knew she wouldn't have just died like that. She was far too proud for that death. No, she lived to torture him. And as for him, well, he lived to torture as many women in her name to show her just how powerless she really was.

A muffled cry came from behind him. He smirked.

"It's just me and you now Lauren…just me and you."

XOX

It was nearing midnight when Aaron Hotchner made it home. The team had run themselves ragged for seven hours, alternately grieving for what they thought they had lost and trying to grapple with having it back. JJ had received the brunt of their anger, and she took it in stride. She was relieved to let it go.

He worried for Reid, who had not reacted in the least, but he didn't believe it was real. The genius dealt in fact, and the fact was he would not believe she was alive until she stood in front of him. Garcia had settled down, but refused to speak to JJ, and Morgan and Rossi had hit the case seconds after the revelation. Even with JJ's wealth of information and Garcia's photo, they'd hit the proverbial wall. They wouldn't get anywhere on so little. He told them to call it a night, be hyper-vigilant, and rest.

Aaron was suddenly glad he'd let Jessica take Jack to his grandparents for the weekend. Something told him it would become dangerous very soon.

He locked his door, set the alarm, dropped the keys into the bowl on the foyer table, and just breathed. He hadn't had time to do his own grieving. The moment she had vanished he'd been searching. He wasn't given the kindness of a lie like his team. He envied them that.

Sighing, he turned on the light, shrugging out of his suit jacket, removing the scrap paper from the pocket before tossing it onto the couch and loosening his tie. Pouring his ritual glass of scotch, he read the poem that he'd memorized long ago. He kept the paper because it was her writing, and it was all he'd been allowed.

The scotch burned its way down his throat. He set the glass on the counter, and stopped.

The hair on his neck and arms stood as he felt the presence of someone. Cautiously reaching for his service weapon, still thankfully at his side, he tried to feel where that sense was coming from.

Since Foyet, he'd become more aware of his surroundings, and after the bombing had damaged his hearing, he relied on the instinctual sixth sense.

_The right. _

He swung to his right, weapon aimed at the doorway across from where he stood.

"Hi, Aaron."

_Martin Luther King, Jr. also said, "A lie cannot live." _


	4. Phantom

**A/N:** So the new episode—pretty legit storyline, outcome expected but not bad; the acting though? _Really_? They were all dead in the water (pardon the pun). Most lifeless acting I've ever seen. Sigh, CBS has ruined CM. (This will probably sound strange because I've hardly written him into this story, but Reid is my favorite character; I find him so completely adorable. I hope I'm capturing the characters as much as I can. And plot twist right off the bat btw!) Without much ado, onto chapter 4.

**Lamentation**

_S__till she haunts me, phantomwise, _

_A__lice moving under skies_

_N__ever seen by waking eyes._

_From Author Lewis Carroll's, Through The Looking-Glass_

"What are you doing here?" Aaron Hotchner demanded, gun aimed at Clyde Easter's head. The man held his hands up in mock surrender; Hotch knew not to ask how the CIA agent had managed to break into his home without setting the alarm off. He knew it would be a useless venture.

"What do you think Aaron? She shows up and you think I'm not far behind? I'm here because she can't be….yet."

Aaron lowered his gun slowly; the man was right. He was her handler, for all intents and purposes.

Clyde nodded to the scotch. "Pour me some of that and lets have a talk, like civilized people."

Aaron acquiesced, but barely. He passed Easter a glass of the amber liquid. "How about we skip the small talk, you drink your scotch, and tell me why the hell she walked out in broad daylight with Doyle stateside."

He swirled the glass, the ice clinking lightly against the edge before tipping it back. The acerbic British spy's expression changed then. He looked tired and drained and old. "She came to me, a couple months back in Austria. I've never seen her that upset in all the years I've known her. She told me she couldn't take it anymore, the running and the hiding. Her mum is torn up; they were mending when she 'died,' you know?" Aaron nodded, remembering how happy she was to have even a cordial dinner with her mother. "She knew the risks though. Called in a favor for a new identity, off the books and quite expensive; she didn't want to use the ones your people gave her in case that crafty analyst of yours hacked the Pentagon."

Hotch had to laugh at that. There was truth in the sentiment after all. "Why would she want to come back to the states though, her mother is stationed in Italy right now—why not go to her? An ambassador certainly has a wide array of security." Aaron knew that much was true—he'd been apart of the security detail for her mother long before joining the BAU.

It was Clyde's turn to laugh, shaking his head. "You really don't get it, do you? She had that blonde liaison as a contact the moment she 'died,' so why did she reach out to you as well. Why risk her cover? You're asking the wrong question Aaron, and that makes me wonder if you'll be able to accept your part in this."

"Just answer me Clyde. Why is she here?" Hotch pressed, his patience wearing thin.

Clyde sized the man up in front of him, hoping the young woman he knew so well hadn't made a horrible mistake. "That's a question I can't answer for her. But let me ask you a question you answered poorly a year ago. Are you willing to sacrifice your oath and, when necessary, put a bullet in Ian Doyle's forehead, Aaron Hotchner?"

This time, there was no hesitation. "Yes."

Clyde smiled at the brutal honesty he saw in the agent's eyes. "Then you have your question, Aaron."

Hotch wanted to punch the man. "What is that supposed to mean?"

Clyde set the empty glass on the counter, ready to exit the bewildered FBI Agent's house. Before he could turn the handle, he added quietly, "Her name is Alice, by the way."

And he was gone.

XOX

"Garcia, sorry to call so late. New lead; I need you to run every woman that's entered the United States named Alice in the last two months. Compare any security photos to Emily, if it even remotely looks like her, call me immediately."

He hit the end button without waiting for her reply. Frustrated, he grabbed his car keys and left his house. He needed perspective, and he had a feeling he knew where he could get it.

XOX

An hour later, Aaron Hotchner sat in front of a false grave—one with a white rose still lying innocently in front of it. It's soft petals were curling now, brown tinged, the veins searching for any source of water, failing miserably at staying alive.

"I know you're not really here, literally or figuratively. But I haven't been able to bring myself to step foot in a cemetery since…well, since Haley. There's just too much death Emily. I just wish you would trust me…trust me enough to let me find you." He paused, the overwhelming urge to flee the cemetery he abhorred so much. "I miss you…it's just…the job is not the same anymore, the team isn't the same anymore. You took pieces of us with you that day. You don't know how your death, fake, real, has damaged us. Just…let us help you this time."

Hotch pushed himself up off the ground, letting his fingertips rest against her name, before brushing them across the top of the headstone as he turned to leave.

XOX

JJ hadn't left the BAU office. She couldn't bring herself to go home, not when Emily was out there. She massaged her temples, feeling Advil had become her vice lately. She couldn't figure out what was worse; her inability to protect her friend, or having lied to the ones that could have protected her. There was no fixing it, the past was the past.

Her phone rang shrilly, jolting her from her inner turmoil. "Jennifer Jareau, speaking."

"JJ, Hotch had me look into something," Penelope Garcia's reluctant—but mission focused—voice came through the other line.

"O-okay, what is it?" She asked. He hadn't run anything by her, but he probably figured she had gone home to her family.

"He called me about an hour ago and told me to look for all women named Alice entering the United States in the past two months," she replied, and JJ heard computer keys being struck at a rapid pace.

"I don't understand, why Alice?"

Garcia shrugged, before realizing that JJ couldn't see the motion. "I'm not sure, he wanted me to compare security check point photos to Emily though. But here's the thing…I got a hit. On an Alice Liddell."

JJ waited for her to finish her train of thought. And waited. "Garcia, is there a punch line I'm missing?"

"I think you need to get back here," Garcia whispered.

"I am here, give me three seconds."

JJ shoved her cell phone into her pocket, making her way to Garcia's office as swiftly as she could. It felt like the longest walk of her life.

The typically bubbly technical analyst looked as if sleep had evaded her for quite some time, and JJ knew that she was partially to blame for it. Her pink highlights had faded and her makeup was sparse; her personality had become diluted with the deaths and evils of the world.

"What do we have?" JJ cut to the chase. Penelope didn't even turn to greet the blonde, she simply pointed at the photo on the screen.

"She didn't come alone," Penelope whispered. "Who is that?"

The sinking feeling in the pit of JJ's stomach told her _exactly _who it was.

XOX

Rossi, a supremely angry Morgan, and a silent Reid, all sat at the corner table in the bar they frequented after cases. Each was on their second beer, still digesting the world-shaking news JJ and Hotch had delivered to them hours earlier.

"They didn't have a choice," Rossi said quietly. He tried to take the blame off of his colleague's shoulders, but he knew it sounded like he was trying to reassure himself. Morgan shook his head.

"No, they could have told us. This whole time—she's been alive this whole damn time—I can't forgive them for that," Morgan slammed his beer onto the table.

Reid played with his second beer, pushing it back and forth as the condensation swirled in the circles he made. "I can," he whispered, barely audible over the hum of bar conversations.

"What?" Morgan questioned, eyes narrowed. "How—how can you?"

Reid met his narrowed glare evenly. "Because it means Emily's alive. It means she's out there and we can find her," he pushed the untouched beer away. "And we're not getting anywhere sitting here being angry at JJ and Hotch. I want to find Emily." He stood to leave, tossing a few dollars on the table.

"Kid, where are you going?" Rossi asked, quite astounded by the young doctor's explanation.

"Where I'm needed."

He left the two remaining agents in quiet surprise. "He has a point, you know?" Rossi pointed out cautiously.

Morgan sighed dramatically. "I know. It doesn't mean I have to like it though. It also doesn't mean I'm forgiving any of them."

Rossi placed money down on the table, just as Reid had. "No one says you have to, and no one expects you to. We all deal with grief differently. If you need to go hit something, hit something. Then come find us."

"Thanks, Rossi. I'm…gonna stay here for a little while."

Rossi nodded, clapping a hand on the furious agent's back before heading out after Reid.

XOX

Hotch pulled into his driveway, putting his vehicle in park before leaning his forehead against the steering wheel. He hadn't felt so completely out of control of a situation since Foyet's attack.

Maybe he'd never been in control.

His visit to the cemetery had given him nothing, not even the false closure he hoped for. Aaron Hotchner felt useless. He finally sat back, shut off his car, and closed the door behind him.

Then he froze.

Sitting on his porch stairs was the silhouette of a person in the shadows. Maybe it was time to move, he thought idly, pulling his gun out in anticipation. He couldn't have spy's and the dead coming back to haunt him. This had to stop.

As he made his way to his own doorway, he realized the figure was smaller. It wasn't Clyde Easter; and from the body language, it wasn't Emily. "Put your hands up please," Aaron said evenly. The figure did so, and carefully started to stand. "Who are you?"

Hotch cursed himself for not remembering to turn the porch lights on before he left. Stupid mistakes would cost him right now. The figure moved back, clearly not carrying a weapon, and oddly cooperative for someone standing in the dark at two in the morning.

"She brought me here," the figure said. A boy. No…not a boy, a teenager. "She said Aaron Hotchner would know what to do."

"Who? Who told you?" he had to ask. He had to know it was all really happening.

"Alice," the teen answered, but the name was strange for the boy to say. He knew who Emily was then, and he was testing Hotch. Hotch tried to put the connection together, but it wasn't making sense.

"What's your name, kid?"

The teen hesitated, clearly uncomfortable, clearly scared. "Alice said I shouldn't say anything until I was at the office. Then it would be safe. I can't tell you until I'm safe."

Hotch sighed, feeling far too old for games. "How do I know its _Alice_ that sent you?"

Hotch could see a small smile form on the boy's face, still hidden in shadow. "She said you'd need proof. Alice told me to remind you about the poem she gave you, the one she gave you when she died."

He was glad for the darkness then. The memory of that day was still one that burned every time it was spoken aloud. He lowered his gun. "Let's go then. The sooner we get to the office, the sooner we get to finding…Alice."

XOX

"JJ, why would she bring someone back with her?" Garcia asked. JJ didn't respond, she couldn't take her eyes off the ball-capped teenager following closely behind Emily at airport security.

"What were you thinking Emily?" JJ whispered, resigned to realizing her friend had more cards up her sleeve then they could ever imagine. "Garcia, anything else on her new alias? Anything on the name of the teen?"

"It's a false identity, obviously. I mean, the name she chose, it's Alice Liddell, the girl that Lewis Carroll based the little girl from Alice In Wonderland off of. Not very wise a name choice, if you're someone with a fount of useless information such as myself, it would be easy to figure out."

"True," JJ smiled, feeling like Penelope was starting to warm up. "But what about the boy—what's his name? She had to have given him a name."

"Same story with him; Charles Liddell. All the information is there, the passports, everything looks as legitimate as something your pentagon people would provide. But why would she go to these lengths, Jayje? I mean, I get that Doyle is still alive, still hunting her. It's one thing to maintain your own fake identity—but bringing some teenager into it?"

"Pen, he's not just _some_ teenager," JJ said warily, trying to convey as much in that one sentence as best she could. Garcia looked up at her curiously, before her mouth dropped open and everything aligned.

"No, no, no, it can't be, is that why…" She surmised frantically.

"That's why she went off the grid. It's why she went into protection in the first place, not to save herself, not even to save us in the end, but so she could save—"

"Me."

The two women turned at the abrupt interruption. Aaron Hotchner stood with the teenager from the photo. The teenager that had eluded them, long thought dead by everyone, including his father, Ian Doyle.

_Ever drifting down the stream-_

_Lingering in the golden gleam-_

_Life, what is it but a dream?_


	5. Sorrow

**A/N:** Wow, love the reviews! Thank you all! I spent three days writing and rewriting chapter 4, and I hope chapter 5 is just as good. And I had technical difficulties uploading this chapter, otherwise it would have been up yesterday afternoon.

**Lamentation**

"_Forgiveness is the remission of sins. For it is by this that what has been lost, and was found, is saved from being lost again."_

_Saint Augustine_

"Hotch, where?" JJ started, eyeing the lost teenager standing resolutely by his side. Hotch held up his hand to stop her speech.

"JJ, call the team, make sure everyone's here. We've got a long night and a long story ahead of us, might as well get comfortable," Hotch said.

XOX

Emily smiled softly from the shadowed safety of her car. She'd followed her teammates every move since she'd arrived in the states two months ago. She had been prepared for them to be long over her death, moved on and scars healed. But what she saw shocked her. The empty, hollow smiles, the lack of interaction with each other, the sluggish motions of the days they went through—how could her death have caused so much pain? Her heart sunk deep into the pit of her stomach, knowing that she was so greatly missed by these people, her family. No one had ever cared for her so much. For that reason alone, she had changed her plan.

Declan didn't know why she brought him out of hiding. She told him she wanted him safe, and he went along with it, as he had almost eight years ago. They spent every day of her new life going over the specifics of her plan. The faces he would come to know as his family, her team members, their profiles and how they worked. He learned quickly.

She wrote the letter on the plane, addressed to her team. It held a years worth of pain and grief and love. She gave it to Declan with specific instructions. They deserved closure.

She knew that Garcia would not give up on believing Doyle could be found by her skillful probing, so Emily had gone to extreme lengths and allowed herself to be caught on camera. Her way of asking for help, her way of giving them assurance, and her way of gaining Doyle's attention.

When Aaron had gone to her grave, she explained to Declan why she was leaving. She didn't get far, because in his brilliant teenage mind, he already knew. Emily would not have left him on her boss's porch if she planned on coming back.

That had been where she deviated.

Emily Prentiss couldn't bear the looks on their faces if given the opportunity to embrace each of them, to see her friends once more, only to die at Doyle's hands again. They'd all sacrificed so much already. She couldn't ask them to sacrifice what was left of their souls, not for her.

The smile still remained, as she turned on the car, free and weightless. Tonight it would be over. Tonight, she would stop hiding.

XOX

"I knew, back then, when she came and they took all the photos, that my dad was a bad man. I thought she'd died too, in a car accident when she was Lauren, until that day. I was never mad that she hid me though. I got to be normal, for a little while. She told me if she ever saw me again, it would be when things got bad," Declan looked away then, swallowing hard as the eyes of Emily Prentiss's team focused on the fifteen year old boy. His hair had been dyed to match Emily's, a dark raven color, still curling unruly as it had in his proof of death photo.

"Declan, why did she bring you here?" Rossi asked tentatively. Emily was brilliant, they all knew that. But none of them had suspected this kind of contingency plan. It was a new level of planning they never saw coming. A plan that she hadn't come up with overnight. No, this was as staged as theatre, and they were learning their roles before opening night.

"She's been setting this in motion for years," Reid surmised, reading Declan's expression of discomfort. He knew his friend. She never did anything without cause. "Even before she came to the BAU. This whole thing is too systematic and controlled to be a whim. This was her plan all along."

Morgan, having returned from the bar after a hysteric Garcia demanded his presence, remained silent and shell-shocked. What had Emily gotten herself into? "Princess always was a planner," he said under his breath with a measured smile, almost proud of his missing friend.

"She told me about you all, you know, made sure I memorized your names and faces, your addresses, cell phone numbers…even your profiles. She wouldn't let me write anything down, just made me constantly repeat it back." He placed his hands around the mug of coffee JJ had placed in front of him not twenty minutes ago, observing Emily's team as she had told him to do.

They were unique, all of them. Dave Rossi was calm, questioning, and slightly suspicious; Penelope Garcia, though not as violently colorful as Emily had so vividly described, was trying her best to entertain him with troll topped pencils, and he didn't have the heart to tell her he wasn't a seven year old boy anymore. JJ was warm and comforting, staring at him with a sympathetic motherly gaze, as if she wanted to hug him. Derek Morgan didn't care much to interact or make eye contact with him, but he was the son of the man who'd attempted, and was still attempting, to kill his friend—Emily said it would take Derek the longest to understand. Spencer Reid was curious, determined, and childish, and he found that he met every endearing criteria that Emily expressed. The young, pretty blonde girl that sat practically mute in the farthest corner made him sad; Ashley Seaver, he knew, had not been accepted into this elite group—they didn't want a replacement, Emily told him. She knew all along how they would respond to the new girl. And Aaron Hotchner, he was impossible to read, even more impossible to comprehend. There was something in the leaders expression so dark and deep and buried away that Declan suspected it was lost even to the man who wore it.

These were Emily's friends, her family, and he thought it would be easier to tell them what was happening than it was turning out to be. He could trust them, but they didn't know just how far ahead Emily was.

"Declan, we really need to know why she brought you to us," Hotch said, standing with his arms crossed, pacing, too bothered to sit still. The teen was leaving out information purposely to protect something. His hesitance was allowing time for something to transpire, and time was something they were running out of.

"She brought me here to stay with you. To keep me safe while…" Declan trailed, not wanting to finish his own sentence. Breaths were held around the room.

"Keep you safe while what?" Hotch demanded forcefully.

He met the frustrated agent's eyes dead on, and knew then why Emily had left him on his porch. Why she spoke so carefully of him, trying not to linger on his name else she appear distracted by an old memory of her former life. This man would do anything for her. They all would, but there was something different about him specifically.

"Emily…she didn't tell me why she brought me to the states, but she didn't have too. I already knew. She sent me a birthday card, every year, sent me letters. She's the only mom I've ever really had, ya know?" the boy before them looked simultaneously older and younger than his fifteen years. He met each of their gazes before he continued, knowing this would be the hardest part. "She doesn't plan on coming back this time. She's going to him, to end it. She wanted to make sure I was safe when she…."

He couldn't finish. _When she died_. They all knew that's what he meant to say. _When_, not _if_. He pulled out an envelope that he'd been clutching in his pocket for months. She told him to expect reactions of all kinds, and that they wouldn't let him down, even though she wouldn't be there to help him anymore.

Yes, she'd planned this all along.

XOX

She breathed in. Exhaled. In. Out.

She had regretted so much in her life. Things she had never said, never gotten a chance to do. Didn't get the chance to make things right with her mother, didn't get to tell her team how sorry she was for the suffering she had caused them, no chance at a real family, no one to truly remember her when she was gone. She'd missed her chance at love, and that hurt the most. She would remain a memory from long ago, a poem on a piece of paper. A secret burden left on the shoulders of her best friend.

A ghost.

She turned off the car. Gun in hand, no backup, nothing shielding her body but the black trench she favored. She looked up at the starry night sky, knowing it would be her last.

Her focus turned to the warehouse before her. He had always liked his warehouses. It was such a horrible cliché. His army of followers had dissipated, been assassinated by her team a year ago. He had nothing left, and that made him all the more dangerous.

Just breathe.

She forced herself forward. It was strange, the calm she felt as she pushed open the heavy door, alerting him to her presence. Everything in slow motion, passing so quickly by but without realizing it. Her gun held steady at her side. This time she was ready.

"Lauren, I wondered when you would arrive. Come, join us, love."

But he was ready too.

_Henry David Thoreau said, "The price of anything is the amount of life you exchange for it."_


	6. Alice

**A/N: **Hopefully I won't have a problem uploading this chapter. I think I'm getting close to the end, but every time I say that I usually end up surprising myself. I hope you're still enjoying it, I know the last chapter was a little short. The whole poem is by Emily Dickinson. Onto Chapter 6!

**Lamentation **

_My life closed twice before its close;_

_It yet remains to see_

_If Immortality unveil_

_A third event to me…_

* * *

><p>Garcia was in tears again, JJ following closely. Seaver pulled her knees up to her chin, trying to stifle her own sobs. Reid stood abruptly, chair falling back, startling the silence that had enveloped the room after Declan's admission.<p>

"No. We just got her back, we _cannot _lose her again. We have to find her. She's alive, she's still alive, _Emily Prentiss is alive_!" Reid didn't realize he was yelling until Rossi clamped a heavy hand on his shoulder, jolting the young genius out of his rant.

"We know," Rossi said quietly. "The problem is, this is a chess game, and she's three moves ahead. You know that, Reid."

"We have to do something, I can't just sit here, and do nothing while she's out there. I didn't get to say goodbye last time. I deserve that, I deserve that much," he cried, his voice breaking as the weight of the day settled around him like a dense fog.

Declan placed the thick letter he'd been holding onto for so long on the table in front of him. He cleared his throat, trying to remain as calm as he could. They weren't the only ones losing someone. He'd lost her twice already. "Alice wrote this on the plane, but Emily wanted me to give it to you when you knew who I was."

The envelope rested, untouched.

It was Hotch who moved to open it. He was the leader. He still maintained his unflappable façade. It should be him that opened the Pandora's Box of secrets written in her hand. It was both what he thought it would be, and what he did not expect.

A dead woman had no use for objects. But Alice Liddell was alive, and she had written her Will two months ago on a plane from Germany.

It was rough, clearly unofficial, unsigned. But these were her words, in her writing; her final demands. He could hardly bring himself to read it aloud, but he had no choice. He held the letter, after all.

_It hardly seems fair, my life and my death. You're the only family I've ever truly had, and the suffering I've caused you all will be my burden alone. Please, don't blame JJ and Hotch for knowing. It was a choice I made, to protect you all. _

_I've written this letter a thousand times, a thousand different ways. I know there's no comfort in my words, but all I can do is hope that you understand my reasons. If you're reading this at all, it's because I've made another choice. _

_If I could have one wish, it would be to see you all one more time. But a wish is a luxury I don't have. I know where he is, and I know what he's done. I can't bring you into this again. I know that if I spoke to any of you, I would not be able to finish what I started years ago. It ends now. _

_I ask you each a favor in my name. This is my Last Will, and as I write this, I know you'll do as I say. _

_Please, don't come after me. Let what will happen, happen. _

Aaron Hotchner clenched the paper so tightly it creased and crumpled in his fists. He refused to read anymore, let alone give her the comfort of dying again.

"We're going to find her. _Now_."

XOX

She held the gun steady, not faltering in the slightest. His back was turned. It would be so easy.

But with Ian Doyle, nothing was ever so easy.

"You won't shoot me Lauren, dear, because you know there's another woman here that will die if I do. And then how would you feel, a fourth woman's death in your name and on your hands?"

XOX

_Ashley Seaver, I know you're the newest member, and they can't accept you, yet. Give them time, they need to grieve. You will be a fine agent one day, so I ask you to keep trying. I'm sorry I couldn't be there to teach you, as I was supposed to. _

XOX

"Where would she go?" Morgan asked to no one in particular, his voice neutral and businesslike, staring the whiteboard down in front of him. "If I were Emily, where would I go to confront Doyle?"

They'd eliminated the cemetery, the pubs he frequented. His cohorts were gone and dead by their hands, so that alleviated any alliances he could have. He was alone.

"It's somewhere he can take these women that look like her, and have all the time in the world to torture them. We know they were moved from wherever they were killed," JJ tried, a marker in her hand as she made notations on the board.

XOX

_Dave Rossi, don't give up on the team, just because I'm gone. You know so many of my secrets, and it hurts for you to hold onto them. You taught me well, you trusted me more than anyone, and I thank you for that. Make sure the team has a story to hear, every once in awhile._

XOX

"My name isn't Lauren Reynolds anymore," She stated simply.

He laughed, harsh, maniacal. "That's right. Lauren Reynolds is dead. But, tell me, love, if Lauren Reynolds is dead, and Emily Prentiss is dead, then who, exactly, are you?"

She smirked. She knew what he was trying to get. She wouldn't let him have it.

XOX

_Derek Morgan, I know you're taking the blame for this. You couldn't have saved me then, and you cannot save me now. It's not your fault. You did your best, and I did my best to push you away. I know what you think of me, but what I think of you is so much more. You were always there for me, my friend, my brother. Let me go._

_It's not your blame to take._

XOX

Reid tried to grasp at anything his photographic memory captured from the case file a year ago. The places she would go would be too far away, and she was stateside, had dropped Declan on Hotch's porch a mere hour ago. She couldn't be far.

Garcia, mascara tracks down her cheeks, had rushed to her office, to the safety of her computers to see if she could track the mysterious Alice's whereabouts, while Rossi tried to pick Declan's mind for anything she would have let slip or what he could remember of their trip.

_Their trip_. That sparked something in the boys mind. He was good with cars. He was almost as photographically inclined as Reid as the teen spouted off the make, model, and color of the rented car.

Honda Civic. Black. New.

And installed with lo-jack.

XOX

_Spencer Reid, of everyone, it's you I've damaged the most. It's you I wish more than anyone I could see once more, to make you feel that you weren't abandoned by another surrogate parent. It wasn't my intention to leave you. I know that will never make up for how you feel, but I'm so truly sorry for leaving you alone. Sometimes I hear you in my head, telling me facts about completely irrelevant topics, and I smile. Don't be afraid to love. Don't be afraid to share your pain. Sometimes a headache is just a headache, after all. _

XOX

"I'm a ghost. That's who I am now Ian."

He finally turned to face his former lover. She was as beautiful as ever. Her hair dark and long, so much longer than she'd ever allowed it. Skin still pale as the moon. But her eyes had always captivated him the most, innocent and passionate. Eyes never lied. But hers had told a thousand.

When he'd first met her all those years ago, his thoughts compared her to a sad, lonely Snow White. No, she was not a ghost. She wasn't the lost princess he pictured anymore. Somewhere in her resurrection she'd transformed into the wicked queen, and she was here to cut out his heart. Her eyes long lost their innocence, replaced by the desire for vengeance.

XOX

_Penelope Garcia, you are the only person that could ever make me smile just by being you. You are one of my dearest friends, you accepted me so quickly when I first met you all. You have the biggest heart, the brightest personality. Don't let that get lost. Don't fade away, because without that color and lightness, the team will fall apart. _

XOX

"I've got it!" Penelope screamed, tearing down the hallway to the room where they were still piecing together the bits of the puzzle, eyes bright and sparkling. "Call me Houdini, I got her location—the car was on just long enough for me to trace it to a warehouse district twenty minutes from here."

Smiles lit the teams faces, relief. But they were still running out of time. "Alright, baby girl, that is what I'm talking about!" Morgan hugged the blonde technical analyst fiercely.

"Okay, we've got a limited window of time here. We need to go, but we have to make this quiet, no lights. Grab your vests, he's armed, she's armed, and neither are going down without a fight. Declan, Garcia will stay here with you." Hotch said, hardly containing his own joy at the prospect of getting her back.

Rossi grinned, saying "Like I said before, let's go get our girl."

XOX

_JJ, I've made you keep so much already, so I'm freeing you from it all. I tried to stay away, but I couldn't. It's lonely, having to look over your shoulder, and the running had to end. I'm happy the team knows, no matter what. I had to bring Declan back with me, I had to keep my promise to him. I couldn't possibly trust anyone more than you, especially with all that you've done for me. I'm leaving him in your care. You're my sister Jayje, and I love you. _

XOX

She would be a murderer if she pulled the trigger. He'd killed so many in cold blood. Her friends, whole families; had threatened her life and the lives of her team. The world would not miss one more killer, especially one like Ian Doyle.

He stood so relaxed, eerily at ease. He always had a backup plan, he was smart and rich and manipulated those around him without a second thought. Somewhere in the building was a woman that looked just like her, and the longer she stood there, the closer the woman was to death.

The moral compass she held so dear was starting to wear on her. Could she kill him, risking the life of an innocent woman? Was the woman already dead? The war waged on as he stared her down, profiling her as much as she was profiling him.

"You can't live with it can you? Not knowing if she's alive? That's just who you are love, you'd rather let me walk out of here free than risk losing a life—and that makes you weak," He spat the last line, as if it could express the contempt he held for his former lover.

They stood a mere forty feet apart. She wasn't the best shot, but she could still hold her own. He held no weapon in his hands, but he was unpredictable at best, fast and efficient. He wouldn't allow her to just walk in.

Something was wrong.

"How did you know I was in the States, Ian?" she asked briskly. "I mean, I know you're connected, but your lacking in your usual resources. So, who tipped you off?"

He smirked. "Not so much a who as a what. Your analyst should be careful where she points her satellites, some of us have access to them love. You're far easier to track then you think. You always had your favorite places."

She shook her head at his arrogance. "You don't know why I'm here, do you?"

He didn't respond. The corners of his smirk down-turning slowly.

"No, because if you knew, I would have been dead the moment I stepped foot on U.S. soil. And yet, I'm standing with a gun pointed at your head," Emily smiled. "See, Ian, I'm your biggest failure. You can't kill me, because I have what you want."

His eyes darkened, a scowl marring his face. She felt it deep in the cells of her being, long before she saw it coming. The slightest motion.

She pulled the trigger.

So did he.

XOX

_Aaron. Somehow writing to you is both the easiest and hardest thing I've ever had to do. I never wanted to have regrets when I died. Now I find myself full of them. It's not actions or words of the past, but what I never did. Things I never got to say. I could write for hours on what I should have said to you. But we don't have that kind of time anymore, and anything I have to say will make no difference now. _

_Please, Aaron, take care of yourself. Find someone that makes you happy, someone that you love, and don't let her go. _

_That's the favor I ask of you._

* * *

><p>…<em>So huge, so hopeless to conceive,<em>

_As these that twice befell._

_Parting is all we know of heaven,_

_And all we need of hell._

_Emily Dickinson_


	7. Emily

**A/N: **Okay—Let's all take a moment , jump up and down, and scream happy happy things because NBC passed on Paget Brewster's sitcom—and apparently CBS gave hints that there was a (possible) contingency plan if this happened—she may be coming back after all! It might not all be in vain! If it ain't broke—don't break it! Best Friday the 13th EVER.

**Lamentation **

"_The whole secret of existence is to have no fear. Never fear what will become of you, depend on no one. Only the moment you reject all help are you freed.__"_

_The __Buddha_

The slow approach to the rundown warehouse was excruciating. They were going in dark, holding out hope that they weren't too late already. Silence hung over them, thick with anticipation, apprehension, and palpable fear.

"Morgan, Rossi, you two take the back; JJ and Reid, I need you to check the building for another woman, we know that he has to have some kind of hostage to hold over her; Seaver, watch the perimeter, if anyone leaves that building, shoot them. I'm taking the front." He paused then, searching the fearful faces of his colleagues, his friends. "She's alive. Concentrate on that thought alone. We _will_ get her out alive."

They nodded, knowing words failed them all. No one knew they were here. They were the only back up they had. It was the kind of situation that would kill all of their careers if, and when, Erin Strauss found out about their moonlight escapade. They all knew, and they were all willing to risk it. What were careers if it meant one died while they waited, protocol be damned?

It was not something a single member of the team wanted on their conscious, not again, not ever.

They exited the solitary black SUV, quietly breaking off into their respective pairings. Seaver followed Hotch a ways before stopping to take up vigilance at the perimeter; Hotch slipped inside the building through a gap in the ruined siding.

Rossi and Morgan jogged to the back, weapons raised and nodding at each other to enter the gaping mouth of the back door, footsteps hushed as a breeze.

JJ and Reid found the stairwell, a half-rusted set of skeleton steps that led to wary, tired flooring. The pair tentatively made their way up the dodgy-at-best staircase, trying not to alert Doyle or Emily to their presence. Guns poised, Reid twisted the ancient door handle and pushed it open, revealing a pitch dark room.

Flashlights were not an option.

They paused, allowing their retinas to adjust to the sudden darkness. Not even the moon deigned to show its face on a night like this. Reid moved onward, squinting to improve the quality of his vision, and saw a shape in the black. He retreated backward, nudging JJ, pulling her carefully with him. Dust kicked up in clouds as their shoes skirted across weather worn wooden boards, eaten away by mold and rain.

_Why couldn't serial killers and psychopaths ever choose stable facilities to torture people? _

JJ made out the shape first, squeezing Reid's forearm to slow his progress. It was a figure in a chair.

"We can't afford to startle her," JJ breathed, barely audible to prevent an echo in the dead quiet room.

"I know," Reid replied, just as rushed. "But we need to know if she's alive. I'll check for a pulse, but it's going to be more instantly calming if she hears a woman's voice," he added. JJ gave a quick, agreeing tilt of her head, trying to eliminate as many useless words as possible.

Reid approached the slumped figure of the woman, dark hair, pale as Emily, and ever so gently moved his left middle and pointer finger to her wrist, searching for the pulse point.

It was slow and languid, but it was there. The woman did not flinch. As much as they needed to remove the woman from the torturous chair, they couldn't afford the noise. JJ cringed, knowing every moment they had to delay was a moment of life the innocent woman lost.

They had no choice but to wait.

For what, though, they did not know.

XOX

Rossi and Morgan were not being afforded any more luck. They'd scouted the entirety of the back of the warehouse, but nothing seemed amiss. Their own slow progression to the front of the warehouse was met constantly by loose cardboard boxes, metal scrap, plastic buckets—of which Morgan nearly stepped into after attempting to avoid a misplaced hammer.

Who needed guns and an army when the whole warehouse was an obstacle course of weapons and potential traps?

Rossi moved toward an alcove that cast a dim light. He heard a voice. A voice that sounded distinctly like that of a woman, and namely, Emily Prentiss. He held his hand out to pause Morgan's movement, and waved him over, pressing a finger to his lips.

The distant voice of Emily Prentiss rang clear as a bell to their ears. It proved she was alive. She sounded calm but tense, like a guitar string ready to snap under pressure. Though how she had maintained such an unshaken tranquility in the presence of a crazed, methodical, glorified sociopathic stalker was beyond both of the men.

Morgan's mouth drew into a disgusted sneer. "Why hasn't she pulled the trigger?"

Rossi turned, intending to respond but stopped short.

Why _hadn't_ she? Whether she assumed the potential hostage was alive or dead, it led to the same road—kill the killer. But that was it, wasn't it?

"Because if she kills him, she's a murderer," he replied grimly. "We're taught to bring in these horrendous killers alive, to be prosecuted to the fullest extent. Right now, she's a civilian, a vigilante, and even at her worst has yet to kill any of his cohorts. He hasn't killed her. He may not even have a weapon on him, just to torture her. If he isn't armed and she kills him, she becomes him."

Morgan scoffed. "And that is exactly what he wants."

Rossi sighed. "It's not our choice to make. This is on her."

"For her sake, I hope she pulls the trigger."

XOX

Hotch could hear it all.

Every word that fell from the mouths of the two in the midst of a standoff before him. He hid in the safety of a secluded corner. He couldn't afford to jump out in the middle and start shooting, but how to draw her attention, to let her know he was _there_.

From the shadows he could see her right arm straight out, defiantly posed, gun in hand and aimed at the ready. He felt a sense of morbid pride he hadn't dwelled on in a long time. He would justify her murdering the man. Would stand by her no matter what.

A prison would not hold Ian Doyle. The gates of Hell would have to bear that burden soon enough. Death was the only thing that could contain a monster such as he.

Emily's voice was lowering in pitch, becoming more taunting and deliberate. She was practically asking him to shoot her, and that she hadn't shot him yet told Hotch that she either didn't have a shot, which he doubted, or he wasn't posing a threat, which frightened him even more.

She said the final thing that would tip Doyle's mood profoundly in her favor.

"_You can't kill me, because I have what you want."_

Hotch could feel the temperature drop as his blood turned cold.

She'd given him the last bit of information to send him over the edge. She let him know she had his son without outright saying it. She had his son, and he would never see him. It was her final taunt as he heard the click of a trigger.

He moved out of the darkness then, as if time would stop for just a moment, allow him to reach her in time.

But time would not allow for such a request.

The silence of that moment shattered by two bullets slicing through the air, reverberating off the warehouse walls.

"_Emily_!"

He screamed. It was strangled and tormented.

But she stood, arm still held out. She half turned to look at him then, a stunned sightless look across her lovely face. It was almost apologetic.

Her trigger arm started to lower; her left hand, he realized, pressing against her left side. She glanced down, opened her mouth then, no words came, and she pulled her hand away. It was covered in red, sticky and dripping forth at a consistent rate.

She fell then, and he caught her.

"_Morgan, Rossi_, call an ambulance, _now_!"

He knew they already had though. The moment the gun went off, they were already in action. Morgan on the phone, Rossi bursting through the small archway, thirty feet from where Doyle had fallen.

Her eyes were strange and out of focus. She looked beyond him. He didn't realize he was crying until his tears splashed across her cheeks, and she blinked lazily. His hand pressed firmly where hers had been a half second before.

"It's….over," she whispered brokenly.

He sniffed, wanting to alternately slap her and never let her go. "It's over, but you can't leave this time, you get to stay this time," He said as authoritatively as he could with the strength that he had. "Do you hear me? I'm ordering you not to die, you left once, and you're never allowed to leave again."

"That's…a lot to…ask…right now," she tried with a smile. "Can't…promise much."

"Hotch—he's alive!" Rossi called across the room, guiltily not wanting to see his friend die, if that was such the case. Morgan even halted his advance towards Hotch and the fallen Emily. He had already watched her die once before, and it gripped him and rooted him to the floor. Memories of last year in another warehouse still stung fresh in his mind.

Sirens wailed in the distance.

"Hotch…" Emily gripped his hand as tightly as she could. She pressed the still warm gun into his palm. "For me."

He leaned over and kissed her forehead, gently laying her on the floor. "Don't leave me."

Her eyes followed him as he stood.

The fifty feet between his fallen friend and the maniacal killer was too long for his liking. The injury Doyle had sustained mirrored Emily's. He had the nerve to laugh.

"Rossi, Morgan…I need you to go to Emily now."

His cold, solid tone held no room to argue, and they obeyed wisely.

He stared down at the man that had plagued their lives for over a year. He'd destroyed so much of them. He would no longer win though. He looked into his eyes, the last time he ever would.

"This is for Emily, and the son you will _never_ get to see again, for all the lives you've ruined. I'll see you in Hell Doyle."

Aaron Hotchner held up his end of the bargain.

He put a bullet in Ian Doyle's forehead.

XOX

As the ambulances rolled in, Seaver ran to guide them into the warehouse where everything had taken place. She didn't know what was happening on the inside, but the three gunshots she had heard did not signal a happy ending.

She gasped at the sight of Emily, had to turn away, ran out the door before doubling over, chocking on nothing but air.

She couldn't watch it happen. Not again.

She lowered herself onto the dilapidated stairs and cried.

XOX

Having heard the two immediate gunshots, Reid and JJ gripped each other's hands tightly, a hopeful reassurance that it wasn't Emily, or Hotch, or any one of them.

"We've got to move her now, her pulse is slowing. JJ, are you with me?" Reid demanded as firmly as possible, one of them had to remain calm. And it seemed this time it would be Reid.

JJ nodded disjointedly. They'd unwound the ropes from the lookalike's hands and ankles. She was not conscious, but she was thankfully shorter than Emily, and Reid managed to lift the woman with a strength JJ hadn't thought he had.

She managed to maneuver them around the same pitfalls they'd avoided earlier, and got to the stairs without much problem. JJ cautiously guided Reid down the unstable stairs, a feat that took a good ten minutes on its own.

And then they heard the third shot.

Reid's face fell, and JJ looked up, knowing.

It had not gone well.

XOX

It wasn't like last time, Emily thought idly.

She felt everything last time. The pain made it real. A wooden stake in your stomach had that effect.

This though, this she did not feel. And that scared her and freed her at the same time. Free. She was free of him. She didn't have to be afraid of her shadow any longer. Her vision blurring, she'd watched Aaron pull the trigger and end it all. For her.

She only hoped she'd be able to thank him.

Rossi and Morgan tried in vain to talk to her, to keep her speaking and awake. But she didn't have the strength to talk to them; she just wanted to rest for a moment.

But even then, peace was not allowed.

Lights danced across her vision. Slurred questions were demanded of her.

_What's your name?_

What was her name.

Lauren Reynolds was dead. That was no longer her name. It was buried in a car crash eight years ago.

_What's your name?_

Emily Prentiss was dead. Could that be her name again? Could the dead come back and reclaim what was theirs? Her friends certainly seemed to think so. But she was still buried in a cemetery.

_What's your name?_

Alice Liddell was not dead. Alice had rescued a boy she called Charlie and brought him home as Declan, brought him here to her friends. Alice had shot Doyle.

But Alice Liddell did not exist, so therefore, Alice, too, was dead.

_What's your name?_

She swallowed thickly. There was finally pain. She felt it blossoming, even as the lights began to flicker and foreign words were yelled across her trapped body. She was moving, and something pulled fervently on her hand, tugging her back.

It was persistent. The tugging. She wanted it to go away, but she wouldn't let it for some reason.

_Tell them your name._

A demand this time. No room for question. It was familiar. It made her smile.

She gripped the tugging hand tightly.

"Emily. My name's Emily."

_Anatole France said "All changes, even the most longed for, have their melancholy; for what we leave behind us is a part of ourselves; we must die to one life before we can enter another."_


End file.
